Never Gonna Dance
by Killing Me Softly Song Contest
Summary: Because of tragedy and misunderstanding, their romance never got off the ground. Can Emmett ever forgive Rosalie? Will Rosalie allow herself to love? AH. EmxRo


**"KILLING ME SOFTLY WITH HIS SONG" ANONYMOUS O/S CONTEST**

**Title**: Never Gonna Dance

**Rating**: T

**Penname**:

**FFn Link**:

**Title of Song Used for the Serenade and Artist**: _Careless Whisper_ by **Seether**

**Word Count**: 3,335

**Disclaimer**: _I am not handicapped. What I know, I have learned through research. I do not own these characters or anything related to Twilight. No copyright infringement intended. Written for entertainment purposes only._

**Summary**: _Because of tragedy and misunderstanding, their romance never got off the ground. Can Emmett ever forgive Rosalie? Will Rosalie allow herself to love? AH. Emmett & Rosalie_

**.**

I rolled myself to a spot that I could easily see the stage from. I had to see him again.

I wasn't enough hearing his voice almost every day over the dispatch lines.

He had asked me if I was coming to the festival – had told me that his band was playing – but I lied and told him I wouldn't be able to make it.

Lies and talk are so easy.

It's the rest that's hard.

I was here because I wanted to see him again, and only because I knew he wouldn't recognize me.

Those who used to know me would not recognize me now. Not with all my once-blonde hair all cut off and dyed black.

No one would recognize Rosalie Hale, anymore.

Who would look twice at an emo chick in a wheelchair?

He was the only regret from my old life.

We went to different schools. He played on Forks High School's football team. The team I cheered for was Forks' biggest rival.

But that was okay. Our opposing teams had a good camaraderie, and we often went to each others games and cheer on the playing team.

That was how I first got to know Emmett McCarty.

At first, it was only shy smiles and long, drawn out stares. He was the tallest guy on his team; built like a promising linebacker, and had the skills to take him all the way to college on a football scholarship. His smile killed me. The boy had dimples that I wanted to eat off his face, and the thickest head of hair that would curl over when it got too long.

He finally worked up the nerve to ask me out our senior year. I was supposed to meet him in Port Angeles after a game. It was the biggest game of the season, and it turned out to be the worst night of my life.

I lost everything that night.

The routine had gone so well in practice. But something went wrong during the halftime performance. I remember my feet giving way beneath me as the human pyramid my squad had built came crashing down. It all happened so incredibly, horribly fast. There was no time to react.

I woke up in a hospital bed, unable to feel anything below the waist: nothing at all. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make my toes move.

I never went back to school. How could I? My life as I knew it had ended.

I suppose Emmett McCarty thought I had stood him up that weekend. I never told him any different. Better for him to think I stood him up, than for him to see me as I am now.

But by some twisted hand of fate, six years later, I still had a link with Emmett McCarty. I had a GED and a degree in communications, and I worked at 911 dispatch in Port Angeles.

Emmett was a police officer in Forks.

I got to talk to him almost every day.

I got to hear his wonderful voice almost every day.

And my heart sang when he would say things like "You have such a beautiful voice, Lillian," or "I'd like to meet you one day, Lillian."

Then my heart would sink so low, because I could never meet him. I didn't want him to know about my disability.

Where I was once vibrant, fit and active, beautiful and popular – I was now shy and frail – a recluse.

I couldn't even tell him my real name. I'd only ever given him my middle name.

The crowd jostled around me and brought my attention back to the stage set up in front of the harbor. There were loud cheers and catcalls as Emmett and the rest of the band stepped out on stage.

He had a toboggan on his head, covering his thick curls. His T-shirt did little to hide his muscular body. My palms started to sweat as he pulled the strap over his shoulder and adjusted his guitar.

He stepped up to the mic and introduced his band.

"So, this is The Band without a Name. To my left is the maestro of rhythm guitar, Mike Newton." Mike strummed a few heavy bars and smirked at the crowd.

"To my right is the king of bass, Seth Clearwater." The harbor rumbled like a thundercloud was overhead as Seth pounded out a few deep notes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, 'Wild Man' Quil Ateara on sticks." Quil's drumsticks struck and I could feel the vibrations pound against my chest. It was an exhilarating sensation.

Mike stepped up and introduced Emmett next. "And last, but definitely not least, our front man, on lead guitar and vocals, Emmett McCarty!" Emmett looked down and made his electric guitar sing. It sounded sad and bluesy.

Emmett put his lips to the microphone and said, "This is for a girl I once knew."

Quil started off, tapping the hi-hat, and then tumbled right into the heavy beat. Every other man wielded his guitar, while Emmett made his cry.

The heavy metal melody sounded so familiar to me, but I couldn't place it.

Emmett's molten voice came over the speakers, slightly gravelly, entirely enthralling.

_I feel so unsure_

_as I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor._

_As the music dies, something in your eyes_

_calls to mind a silver screen and all its sad goodbyes._

_I'm never gonna dance again_

_'cause guilty feet have got no rhythm._

_Though it's easy to pretend_

_I know you're not a fool._

_I should've known better than to cheat a friend_

_and waste this chance that I'd been given._

_So I'm never gonna dance again_

_the way I danced with you._

I couldn't be sure, but I was fairly positive that the girl he was referring to was me. My eyes went blurry and I realized I was crying. I wiped at my cheeks and the backs of my hands came away black. The eyeliner that I always wore now was running down my face.

I had hurt this man. He probably wanted me to hurt as much as he did. If only he knew...

_Time can never mend_

_the careless whispers of a good friend._

_To the heart and mind_

_ignorance is kind,_

_and there's no comfort in the truth,_

_pain is all you'll find._

By the end of the second verse, Emmett's voice had turned raw, roaring. Every hand with a pick in it flailed against electrified strings. The heavy beat of the drums tore at my chest.

I'd heard enough, and I didn't think I could listen any more.

But as I wheeled around and started down the street to my ground-level apartment, I heard him sing the next lines of the song.

_We could have been so good together._

_We could have lived this dance forever._

_But now who's gonna dance with me?_

_Please stay!_

I couldn't stop the sob that escaped my mouth. Things could have been different. They _should_ have been different. But they weren't, and I was no longer whole.

People were in my way, but I kept pushing through the crowd. I had to get away.

I knew I had to stay away from Emmett McCarty.

**.**

"What is this, a golf cart limo?" Quil asked as he tapped on the top of the six-seater vehicle.

"Somethin' like that," the driver drawled.

I snorted and climbed into the front seat by the driver. The festival made sure the bands had transportation to and from the stage; which was handy, because all our cars were parked about a mile away.

I held onto my guitar case, situating it on the floor between my knees. I was tired. I'd been working non-stop to get time off so that we could play for the weekend. I was glad we were done for the day.

My band mates took their sweet time loading their instruments. I was ready for food.

Mike thumped the back of my head and said, "Nice job, Em. You get better every time you sing it."

"Yeah… Thanks, man." I absently rubbed the spot where he'd hit me, thinking about the reason I liked to sing that song. After all these years, I still often thought about Rosalie Hale.

We eventually started moving around the back lot of the festival. There were different people milling about on the street and the side walks. Streetlamps dotted the walks every twenty feet or so. The festival still had some big headliners that were to play later in the evening, so a lot of the festival goers were waiting around for the big acts.

We rounded a corner and came to a group of people gathered in a semicircle.

My instincts told me to stop and assess the situation.

"Wait," I told the driver. "I want to see what's going on here."

"Geez, McCarty. Can't you shut off the cop for one night?" Mike all but groaned.

My answer was to shove the butt of my guitar case into his lap. Hard.

I walked up to the group and pulled my badge out of my pocket. "What seems to be the trouble here, folks?" I heard a woman yelling. Sounded like she was on the ground.

I held up my badge and pressed through the bodies. I stumbled when my knees bumped against an empty wheelchair.

"Just get away from me!" the woman yelled. She was facing away from me. She was small, had black hair, and was dressed in all black. She even had black, fingerless leather gloves on her hands. It was my guess that she had taken a tumble out of her chair.

"All right, break it up. Everyone, please move along," I prompted the group of onlookers.

As soon as some of them saw the badge, they made tracks, clearing the sidewalk. I approached the fallen woman as she raised herself with her hands. Her head was still bowed, her shoulders sagged. She looked worn out.

"Miss, may I help you up?" I walked around and squatted down to face her.

She growled as she looked up, "I don't need your..." As soon as her eyes met mine, she snapped her mouth shut and shifted her eyes away. She had black tear trails where her makeup had run down her cheeks. I had a strange moment of haunting clarity – I knew this woman from somewhere.

I grabbed her chin and tilted her face. _My God_. Those eyes. Those ice blue eyes could only belong to one person. The smooth shape of her fine eyebrows, wide, exotically shaped eyes, these are attributes that belonged to one memorable woman. Rosalie Hale.

But Rosalie Hale would have never cut off her beautiful hair. She'd have never dyed it midnight black. Rosalie Hale didn't need a...

"I need my chair," came her pitiful whisper. I looked at the piece of equipment in a daze, like it was an alien being that had landed on the street. My heart bottomed out as I stared at that wheelchair.

"Please," she said. "I just want to get home."

I nodded and rolled it to her side. She struggled to get into it, until I scooped her up in my arms. She gasped and her short fingernails dug into my arm.

"I was going to do it myself." She still would not meet my eyes.

"I knew you were. But my daddy taught me from a very young age to help a lady out when she needed it. Now, _you_ may not need the help, but I _need_ to help you." I smiled and stared at her. _It had to be her. After all these years... I couldn't believe I'd finally found her._

I unconsciously held her tighter to my chest. She was small and frail compared to my hulking frame. A thought occurred to me then. "Were you injured?"

"I'll be fine. You can put me down, now."

"Hold on. I have more questions. Were you assaulted? Harassed? How did you fall?" I asked her.

She sighed and turned to point a finger at the ground. "That tree root. It's the one that did all the assaulting and harassment. Why don't you take _it_ in for questioning? I'd like to go home now."

My lips split into a wide grin. She had the same fire in her. This was definitely Rosalie Hale.

"I want to make sure that you make it home safely." I turned back to the golf cart. "Hey, Seth, can you hold onto my stuff? I'll get it from you later."

"No prob."

"Thanks. I'll find my own way back." The guys waved and took off down the street.

"So, where do you live?" I asked.

"Just up the road. But please put me back in my chair." She fidgeted with her gloves, still avoiding looking at me.

I glanced down at the wheelchair. "What happened?" I asked in a whisper.

"If you'll excuse me, I do not like to tell perfect strangers my life story."

"Yeah, but we're not exactly strangers, are we, Rosalie?"

She stiffened in my arms and brought her hands to cover her face. She didn't speak or make a sound. I began to worry. "Rosalie?"

Her lack of communication confirmed that she recognized me as well. I glared at the wheelchair on the sidewalk. Rosalie shouldn't need such a thing. How had she come to need it in the first place?

Rosalie used to have the most beautiful blonde hair. Always wore perfect makeup. She used to dress much differently than this.

This was her identity now. All this black and sadness. She didn't want anyone to recognize the girl she once was.

I held her tight and sat down in the wheelchair. It was a tight squeeze, not meant for someone my size.

"What the hell are you doing?" The volume of her voice rose with each word.

"Now, how does this thing work?" I laid her legs over the side, noticing that they didn't move at all on their own. _God, what had happened to my Rosalie?_

I made sure she was secure in my lap before I placed my hands on the sides of the wheels. I slid my hands back and pushed forward. _Huh. Rolls pretty good_.

As we started to move, Rosalie put her arm behind my back and held on. She had a firm grip. Her arms were probably the strongest part of her. "I can't believe you're doing this," she grumbled. "You are a new kind of idiot."

I barked out a laugh. "Well, in case you never noticed, I was always a fool for you. It doesn't matter how many years have passed. I always will be a fool for you, Rosalie Hale."

She started wiping at her eyes. "I can't believe you. And you're going the wrong way."

I laughed again and whipped the chair around. "Tell me where I'm supposed to go."

She gave me directions and soon I had us wheeled to her front door. She had a street-level apartment not far from the main drag.

"Hey, does this thing have a parking brake?" She showed me how to lock it and then I stood, still cradling her in my arms. "Hmm. Not a bad ride you got there."

She huffed a little laugh. "Yeah, it's okay." Her keys were attached to a carabiner on a belt loop. She opened up the door to the dark apartment and looked up at me. Finally. It was difficult to look away from eyes such as hers. They were just so clear and crisp and blue. I thought of the ocean and the frothy waves and the sky when I looked into them.

"May I come in?" I asked, absorbing every detail of her. She nodded and reached for a switch on the wall.

There was a lot of clear space, probably so she can get her wheelchair though the apartment easily. A couch sat in the middle of the den, so I settled her on it, and then retrieved her chair. She still had black streaks on her face, so I asked her where the bathroom was.

I brought her a warm, damp washcloth, and gently dabbed at her face. "Do you live alone?"

"Mm-hmm," she mumbled and began removing her gloves. "Why are you doing all this? Shouldn't you hate me?"

I stopped washing her face and stared. "Why in the world would I hate you, Rosalie?"

"Because... I basically disappeared six years ago. I never showed up for our date. You never heard from me again."

"No, I sure did not. I should have looked for you. I should have asked anyone and everyone about you. I didn't, and I'm sorry that I didn't. Is that when it happened?"

Rosalie lowered her eyes and nodded.

I finished cleaning her face and then studied her. She was still beautiful. I touched her short hair, letting my fingers slip through its softness. "I wish I had known. I wouldn't have left you alone."

"You may ought to count yourself lucky. I wasn't easy to live with after the accident."

"All the same, I would have been there for you. I've missed you, Rosalie."

Her smile was sad, but it was a smile. It was satisfying to see her smile.

"I need to go to the bathroom. Can you bring my chair closer?"

"Sure." I jumped up and wheeled it over. She was much more efficient going from the couch to the chair.

While she was gone, I snooped. She had plaques and pictures on the walls. I looked at every one. I was very surprised to see that there were service awards with her name on them; service awards that had to do with 911 dispatch.

"Rosalie," I raised my voice so she could hear. "Do you work for dispatch?"

I heard her roll back into the living room. I continued to read over the plaques until I got to a framed degree. The official-looking paper under the glass had her name typed out – her full name.

_My God. This whole time._

I turned to face her. I felt a little stunned, but deep down, I was overjoyed. "Lillian?"

She lowered her eyes and nodded, looking uncomfortable.

I dropped to my knees in front of her. "You've been so close all these years. I have been falling in love with a girl named Lillian, even though I've been pining over a girl named Rosalie for so long." I held her soft face between my hands. "Rosalie, I've never stopped caring for you. I don't ever want to stop."

She drew a shaky breath. "Emmett, you should be with someone who is whole. I'm never going to walk again. I'm stuck like this for the rest of my life."

"Shh. None of that matters. You're still you. Even though you've cut off your hair and you have a different wardrobe, and you have to use a wheelchair, you're still the same girl I fell in love with back in high school."

She laughed as a tear fell from her eye. "Emmett... this is not going to be easy."

"It can be as easy as we want it to be..." I whispered past my smile. "Will you let me kiss you now?"

Her eyes went wide, but she nodded her assent. I leaned in and kissed her with all the tenderness and passion that I possessed.

I had waited so long for that kiss.


End file.
